Secret Santa
by Mlee.Write
Summary: "If you don't want to join in the festivities, then don't Jane, but don't try to convince us it's for any other reason than you're a grumpy old man." The office Secret Santa doesn't go as planned for Jane and Lisbon.
1. Chapter 1

Title: Secret Santa

Author: Mlee Write

Rating: T for suggestive but not explicit situations

Spoilers: Season 5 approximately.

Disclaimer: I am not affiliated with the Mentalist in any way. I am not making a profit from this. It's purely fun.

Summary: "If you don't want to join in the festivities, then don't Jane, but don't try to convince us it's for any other reason than you're a grumpy old man." The office Secret Santa doesn't go as planned for Jane and Lisbon.

A/N: I'm still working on The Devil You Know. I wasn't going to write a Christmas story, or even include Christmas in TDYK. Then this little idea wiggled its way into my head and wouldn't go away. So…

I. Bright Paper Packages

Jane could see it in Grace's eyes—the delighted glimmer, the girlish glee. Either she was getting lucky—and after the O'Laughlin debacle he doubted it—or she was gearing up for Christmas. Soon the bullpen would sport festive holiday garlands, a small artificial tree, and whatever other decorations she could scrounge up.

The previous year she had the gall to put the tree on _his_ desk. Granted it wasn't being used much, but it was still his desk—and she had hung mistletoe above the couch. His first nap of the day had been rudely interrupted by Agnes from accounting zeroing in for a smooch. Agnes was sixty going on one-hundred and getting kissed by those lips was not how he wanted to start his day.

Whatever lessons she'd learned last year about getting him into the holiday spirit clearly hadn't stuck. She was all but skipping when she approached him, holding out a Christmas stocking.

"You need to take a name for secret Santa," she said. She wiggled the stocking for emphasis.

He didn't rise up from the couch, didn't even look up from his book. "Ah, I'll pass, thank you."

"C'mon, Jane, it's more fun when everyone joins in," she said.

He rolled his eyes. Secret Santa was not fun. It was a waste of time. He could always guess who his 'Santa' was. Rigsby, perpetually lacking in creativity, would get gift cards. Lisbon would buy thoughtful, maternal gifts—a warm scarf, a high-end hand cream for dry winter skin. Cho would re-gift whatever dreadful things his relatives had gotten him the previous year. Grace would go the conventional and impersonal route—a holiday themed mug with cocoa or penguin socks (_really, Grace_?).

It was all so boring.

"I'm really not interested, Grace," he said politely. "The holidays aren't exactly my thing."

She pouted. "Because you like being a miserable curmudgeon?"

"Ooh," said Cho.

"What's a curmudgeon?" asked Rigsby.

Jane closed his book with a snap. "If you must know, you're all too predictable. I can figure my Santa out with the first gift."

She sighed. "That's not the point, Jane."

"Oh, leave him alone," said Lisbon, strolling out of her office, empty coffee mug in hand. "If he wants to be a scrooge, let him be."

"I'm not a scrooge, Lisbon," he challenged. "I just don't see the point in these silly holiday games. If I wanted to surprise one of you with a gift, I would, for no reason."

"Oh, really?" she asked, arching a dark eyebrow. "And when have you _ever_ done that? You're just cheap!"

Rigsby and Grace laughed. Cho quirked a smile. Jane put his hand to his heart, feigning offense. "I can't believe you would say that after I bought you a pony."

"You borrowed a pony from a petting zoo," she replied dryly. "And by borrowed I mean absconded with it while the owner wasn't paying attention."

"Did you really want to keep it?" he asked.

"Maybe," she replied flippantly. She grinned devilishly. He liked her like this, when she was having fun. "If you don't want to join in the festivities, then don't Jane, but don't try to convince us it's for any other reason than you're a grumpy old man."

Well that did it. Jane snatched the stocking from Grace and reached inside. He pulled out a scrap of folded paper. "You're going to regret that, Lisbon, my dear," he said, waving the paper with a flourish. "Especially, if I have your name. You're getting nothing but coal."

She rolled her eyes and pulled a name from the stocking as well.

He watched her walk away, then unfolded the scrap of paper. Cho. Oh, well, books it was then. He wondered which team member had selected his name.

He'd know in the morning, he thought, settling back on the couch.

Grace smirked at him knowingly, and strolled away, flipping her red hair behind her.

XXX

Teresa glanced at the name she'd unfolded on her desk. Grace. She would have had more fun with Jane (ginko pills, support socks, adult undergarments…), but Grace was fine. The junior agent really needed some better winter gloves, something warm—angora maybe?

She slipped the note into her desk calendar and sipped her peppermint mocha. She wondered if Jane got her name, and if so, what he would plan. Something nefarious for sure.

She worked late into the evening, then collected her personal items and left to go to the mall. Even Jane was missing from his usual spot on the couch as she left.

Grace's Secret Santa lasted for five days—four smaller presents, then a larger gift on the last day with everyone trying to guess their Santa. It all ended the day before they took off for the holiday. Since Christmas fell on a Tuesday, they would give presents starting the previous Tuesday and ending Christmas Eve. It was already Monday night, leaving her little time to shop.

As she left she glanced at the little artificial tree Grace had put on Jane's desk, and smiled.

XXX

Tuesday morning opened with a murder—not the way she'd hoped. Somewhere between questioning witnesses and trying to keep Jane on a leash, Teresa forgot about the gift exchange. It wasn't until she got back to the office after lunch that she thought to sneak Grace's gift into desk drawer. The bullpen was empty—the others were still in the field—when she slipped the box of soothing bath salts into Grace's desk.

She hoped the junior agent liked them. She'd gotten lavender specifically so Grace could unwind after long cases—she hadn't been handling stress as well since Craig had died.

She smiled when she saw the small wrapped package on Cho's desk. From the shape it was obviously a book. She also noticed shiny green wrapping paper poking up from between the cushions of Jane's couch. It was nice to have these happy little distractions sometimes, even in the middle of solving a murder.

It wasn't until later that she saw something poking out of the pocket of her jacket. Alone in her office she took out the small box, wrapped cheerily in red-and-white foil paper, and carefully tore it open. Chocolates? The box was the right size, but it was too light.

There was dark red tissue paper inside. She folded it back and found…silk and lace?

For a moment her mind was blank was confusion, then her fingers closed on the slippery material and pulled it from the package. It was a camisole, black silk with black lace trim. It had spaghetti thin straps and a quite a deep V-neckline, glittering with tiny black bead accents. It was obviously expensive, the sort of thing you wore when you expected to remove your shirt for someone.

She immediately scratched Cho off her list. No way.

Rigsby? She was sure he'd die of embarrassment before buying her anything like this.

Grace? Did Grace think she wasn't getting out enough? It was entirely possible, although certainly…weird.

It couldn't be Jane, unless his goal was to make her as uncomfortable in his presence as humanly possible. She paused. So yeah, it could be Jane.

Scowling she wadded the garment up—then thought better, re-folded it and put it in the box. Hearing her team return she marched out into the bullpen to eye them up and figure out who the culprit was.

Grace was helping Jane hold a bag of ice on his face while Cho stood, arms crossed.

Jane's lip was swollen and split. She sighed. "What did you do?"

"Nuffing," he muttered around the ice.

"Pissed off the victim's sister and got punched," Cho reported.

Teresa shook her head. She could imagine the complaint she would have work through. "Sit down and keep ice on that," she sighed.

Jane, ever the baby when was hurt, settled onto the couch and then winced as he laid down on his present. He fished it from between the cushions and waved it at her. "This from you, Agent Lisbon?"

It came out "Agwent Wisbon."

"You'll just have to see," she said tartly, then spun away on her heel.

The camisole was waiting for her in her office. She stared at it.

It couldn't be from Jane. It couldn't be.


	2. Chapter 2

II. Mistletoe Kisses

Jane held the ice to his face and watched Lisbon storm back into her office. She seemed particularly irritated with him. He wondered why she bothered to get her blood pressure up; it was hardly the first time he'd been punched during the course of working a case. Just because he'd implied the victim's sister was a gold-digging hussy…

He adjusted the ice and winced. Some people couldn't handle the truth.

He stretched out, crossing his feet at the ankles and looked at his gift. A small, business card-sized package wrapped in green paper. Gift card. Clearly Rigsby.

He glanced back at the agent in question. Rigsby had opened his own Secret Santa gift—a Christmas themed tie that—good Lord—had actual blinking lights on it. Jane squinted. It appeared Rudolf's nose blinked off and on.

Rigsby was putting it on, laughing in delight at the tacky item.

"That tie is the death knell for elegant men's wear," Jane said dryly. "We should hold a funeral."

All Cho said was, "Dude."

"It's fun!" Rigsby insisted.

Clearly he thought Grace might be his Secret Santa, Jane mused. He was either pretending to like it to please her or he'd suffered a head injury at some point. Jane thought it was entirely likely the tie was from Cho who was counting on Rigsby to think the gift was from Grace. It was a well-laid plan to make his partner look like a moron.

Sometimes Jane had a lot of respect for Cho.

Grace was studying a box of bath salts she'd found in her drawer, smiling. "Aren't you going to open your gift?" she asked Cho.

Cho tapped the package Jane had expertly wrapped. "No need. Book."

She sighed. "Don't you want to know which one?"

"I'll open it later," Cho said looking bored with the whole thing.

"That's my man," Jane said happily. "Keeping the Christmas spirit down." He held up fist.

The other agents ignored his sarcasm and got back to the work of solving a murder. Jane flipped his little gift around in his fingers for a few moments, then slit the green paper open. He hoped it wasn't a gift card to the Olive Garden or something equally banal. Inside was a folded card of heavy ivory cardstock. He frowned and opened it.

Inside the fold of the card was the deep pink lipstick imprint of a pair of lips. Typed below was 'Good for one free kiss.'

Sooo…not Rigsby. He glanced behind him. Wayne was on the phone, looking frustrated at whoever he was talking to. He certainly _hoped_ it wasn't Rigsby.

He studied the lip marks. They looked like plump, feminine lips for sure. The lipstick was a rich pink, subtle, but enticing.

Van Pelt? Was she having fun at his expense? He didn't think so; she'd die of embarrassment if he called in his gift and planted a kiss on her lips. Plus she was more of a siren-red sort of girl. Unless she had some deep, unrequited feelings for him, which he seriously doubted. He'd never gotten that vibe from her, even when she was younger and starry-eyed.

The new, tough-as-nails Van Pelt would deck him just as soon as she would kiss him.

So that left Cho and Lisbon. Quite frankly he found either scenario as likely as the other.

Cho was inscrutable. Maybe that was his secret. Of course that didn't explain the fact that Cho was clearly torturing Rigsby with the tie.

_Lisbon?_

He held the paper to his nose and inhaled deeply. It smelled like soft floral soap, unscented hand cream, and just a hint of cinnamon.

It _was_ Lisbon.

Well that just opened a Pandora's box of possibilities. He dropped the ice to the floor and folded his arms behind his head, keeping the little card between his fingers.

Possibility one: she was screwing with him. Entirely likely, except that she wasn't one to engage in flirtatious games. Lisbon blushed when he complimented her hair or the color of her blouse.

Possibility two: she really wanted a kiss and was putting the ball in his court.

There had to be something he was missing, he thought. Something wasn't adding up.

He stared at the stain on the ceiling and pondered using his card. What kind of kiss would he want? He thought about kissing her when she bright eyed and laughing, when they were all there too late and getting punchy. Those nights when she was relaxed and everything was a little too funny. He'd sweep in and steal and kiss while the mood was light and her guard was down.

Or he could sneak a sweet little butterfly kiss when she was least expecting it. The sort of affectionate, loving press of the lips that said, "I'm your friend, but I appreciate that you're a beautiful woman, too." She'd blush, and ignore him, and that would be that.

Or he could wait for a bad day, the kind where he felt weighted down by depression and guilt. He could hand her the card when he felt desperately lonely and he knew that she would respond. She would wind her arms around his neck and kiss him gently, reassuringly. She would remind what comfort touch could bring, what light and hope.

Or he could just sweep her up in a bone-melting, deep kiss that would curl her toes. Then he would walk away with a cocky grin while she turned red. Unless she kissed him back, coaxed him into staying a little bit…

The card slipped from his fingers and fluttered to the floor. He rolled over and reached down to retrieve it.

He'd never thought about kissing her before, not really. Now that he did, he found there were all kinds of Lisbon kisses he wanted to try; one might not be enough.

XXX

Night had long since fallen, and the team went home for some much needed rest. Jane remained on his couch, nursing his swollen lip and pondering the mysteries of women—one in particular.

He realized he hadn't seen Lisbon leave, so he got up, tucking the card into his vest pocket. He opened the door to her office, expecting to see her hard at work. Instead she was stretched out on her couch, sound asleep. An open case file was scattered on the floor next to her.

He bent and picked the file up, set it on her desk. Her lips were parted and her cheeks were pink. Her hand was tucked beneath her.

He brushed a strand of hair from her face and she stirred just a little. He thought about leaving her there, but he didn't like the thought of her walking to her car alone if she woke up at three a.m. He'd never tell her that, of course; he'd just insult her pride. She was armed after all.

He touched her shoulder to wake her up, then thought better of it. Now was the most perfect moment he was going to get—she was completely relaxed and unsuspecting.

He pressed a soft kiss to her forehead, her eyelid, the tip of her nose. When she mumbled sleepily and opened her eyes, he kissed her lips. She was soft and warm, and he felt her go still with surprise. He cupped her cheek and angled his head, pressing against her for one more fragile moment, then pulled back.

Lisbon's eyes were wide with shock.

"You feel asleep," he said cheerily.

"Uh," she said.

"You should go home," he replied. "Get some rest."

"Uh," she said. Blinked.

He stood up and strolled out of her office, hands in his jacket pockets, whistling Rudolf the Red Nosed Reindeer.

XXX

Lisbon pushed the hair out of her eyes and tried to get her bearings.

Clearly Jane had gone insane; he'd brought her lingerie, then kissed her.

He'd once promised her that if he seduced her, he'd do it unconventionally. She supposed this counted.

But _why_?

Why after eight years was he making a move on her? Was he messing with her head?

She stood up and started gathering her things, desperate to be out of the office. She needed to think about this; this could be very, very bad.

Either he was playing a game that was not funny—not to mention designed to give Larry in HR a full on heart attack, or she was going to have to find a nice way to let him down.

He was Jane for, God's sake. She couldn't just go around kissing Jane.

She touched her lips. It_ had_ been pretty a good kiss.

She shook her head resolutely. No! No Jane kisses! Not if he begged her to. Not if he stood under the mistletoe. She'd just tell him to knock it off.

Right after her head stopped spinning.

_**A/N: I'll try and get some writing done before I have to travel again this weekend and next week for work. Silly bastards think that because they pay me I should have to do stuff. Sigh.**_

_**Reviews are like Jane kisses **___


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Sorry this took so long, guys. I've been busy with work, barely been home to see Mr. Write (ha, that's a pun!) and I'm preparing for the holidays with the extended family. I will honestly try to get this puppy done by Christmas—but no promises.

Agnes: I apologize if I offended—but on the upside, you got a Jane kiss, so…

III. Stockings Were Hung

Teresa's fingers fumbled, tearing the wrapping paper for the second time. Growling in frustration, she wadded the gift wrap into a crinkly ball and tossed it into her waste-paper bin. Moving more slowly this time, she started wrapping Van Pelt's second gift-again.

She blamed her shaking hands on exhaustion; after Jane's wake-up kiss the previous night she hasn't slept at all. Every time she shut her eyes she felt Jane's lips hovering over hers, warm and promising something magical. The feather-light touch of his lips on her forehead, her eyelids was burned into her memory now.

It was ridiculous, she fumed, ripping a piece of tape from the dispenser. It was hardly the first time she'd been kissed, and it certainly wasn't the steamiest kiss she'd ever received. Strictly speaking it had been borderline chaste…but if she was being honest with herself, there had been a lingering passion there, a hint of so much more.

She sighed and affixed the bow to the present. That was the problem with Jane—there was always the air of mystery about him, the promise of _more_.

She didn't want more, she thought, sneaking into the bullpen. It was early and pearly pre-dawn light filtered in through the dirty windows. Since she hadn't snatched more than a few hours of sleep she'd come in early, intending to break the case open before Jane could do it and gloat.

She slipped the package onto Grace's chair, then headed for her office, her mind buzzing with thoughts of her errant consultant.

She'd have to talk to him; that would be the professional, responsible thing to do. She'd set boundaries, explain that she was his boss, not a girl he met in a bar. They had to maintain a solid working relationship and that meant no flirting (okay overt flirting) and definitely no kissing.

Even if he tasted of peppermint tea.

Even if it had felt really good.

No, definitely no kissing.

She sat down at her desk and sipped her latte. Fortified with enough espresso, she could do anything.

XXX

Hours later Jane poked his head in her office. "Morning Lisbon," he said cheerily. He was all rosy cheeked and sparkly eyed this morning, like a cat that had swallowed a particularly delicious canary.

He looked like he slept well, she brooded. She pouted her lips in irritation. "Jane, we need to talk," she said, gesturing to the chair across from her desk.

"Hmm," he mused, drumming his fingers on the doorjamb, "that sounds ominous, so I'll pass."

"Jane," she warned.

"Alright, alright," he muttered, taking a seat. He studied her. "So Teresa, what has you so up in knots this morning."

She stared him down. "I think you know, Jane," she said very seriously.

"Ahhh…all upset over _that_, are we?" he teased. Much to her shame, felt her cheeks heat up. How did he make the word 'that' sound dirty?

"I don't think that little kiss deserves a stern kiss this early in the morning," he said lightly.

"I think it does," she replied evenly.

"Did you want a bigger kiss?"

"_Jane_." She took a breath, then said gently. "Look, I know it's the holidays, and it's easy to feel alone and isolated this time of year…"

She saw his face close down. "I think I understand," he flatly.

She wasn't sure what was happening. Suddenly his features seemed stormy, hurt. "I just think," she faltered. "I just think…you need to understand, Jane…"

_You need to understand I can't be this for you._

"I do," he said, but his voice had turned cold. "Was that all, Agent Lisbon?"

She felt the conversation slipping out of control. Her stomach clenched, acid burning at her from too much coffee. "Jane, please don't be upset." She was perilously close to begging.

"I'm not at all, Lisbon," he said with the even air of a conman and accomplished liar. He stood up and breezed out of her office without so much of a backward glance.

She pressed her hands to her face, struggling to understand what just happened. She hadn't expected Jane to be offended when she rebuffed his advances. It was common knowledge that inter-office romance was expressly forbidden among officers on the same team. Jane might get some sort of exemption as a consultant, but that didn't make it a good idea.

She didn't want to hurt him, though. She knew he hadn't pursued a woman after his wife's death with the exception of Lorelei (and she wasn't convinced he cared for her at all). Was he testing the waters again with her because she was safe? How hard had it been for him to reach out with that kiss?

She groaned and leaned back in her chair.

Hours later she found the package tucked into her briefcase. It was the same size as the last one, with the same wrapping paper.

She tore the paper open, heart fluttering with anticipation and dread. She lifted the tissue paper up. Black silk and lace again—tap pants to match the camisole.

Her stomach dropped a little, the way it did when she felt a sudden thrill. She tamped down on the emotion immediately and snapped the box shut.

XXX

Jane hid from the team most of the day, generally causing mayhem among the murder suspects, but brooding more than anything else.

When Teresa had given him a free kiss he'd assumed she was playing at some kind of game. He'd taken the bait eagerly.

When she'd given him the whole "everyone gets lonely around Christmas" speech he realized he'd been an idiot—it was a pity kiss. It was an "I'm-sorry-your-sad-and-alone" kiss. And like a rube, he'd fallen for it hook, line and sinker.

He'd been humiliated, and more than a little irritated with her overbearing motherly concern. You didn't offer a man a kiss unless you meant it.

He didn't return to the office until well after she'd left so he could sulk in peace. He had deliberately avoided the whole Secret Santa thing, so guiltily, he wrapped up a twenty dollar bill in some crumpled gift wrap he found in the trash. He set it on Cho's keyboard. The other agent shouldn't suffer just because he and Lisbon were on the outs.

He saw the present sitting on his desk, all glittery gold and enticing. He didn't want to open it. He dreaded what was inside.

The child-like part of him won out, and he shredded the paper, tearing open the box. It was a package of gourmet teas—the kind that came in proper silk sachets, not paper sacks. They were nestled in a box of shredded green paper.

He sighed. It was like her, trying to be contrite, trying to apologize for giving him the wrong idea.

At least it was good tea.

He pulled a sachet of pear oolong out and noticed something shiny beneath the mound of green paper. He took the teas out carefully then dumped the shredded paper in the trash. In the bottom of the box were two items.

The first was a single silk stocking, a thigh high. He let the fabric slide between his fingers, for once truly baffled.

The second was a note on the same card stock as the 'free kiss' coupon.'

This one said simply, "I'm sorry."

He looked at both items in his hands, pondering.

Teresa Lisbon was a mystery—one he fully intended to solve.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: I finished this by Christmas like I'd promised, but it turned out to be a chapter longer than I'd anticipated. So I'm posting a chapter today, one tomorrow, and one the day after Christmas. Thank you all for the reviews and Merry Christmas.

If you're looking for another great holiday fic, I recommend Starry19's Starlight and Silent Nights. It's a heartwarming story.

IV. Eyes All Aglow

Jane stayed up late into the night studying the stocking that had been hidden under his tea. It was a perfectly normal garment so far as lingerie went—not some expensive French tidbit, but a higher end department store stocking. It was black, seamed up the back, with a lace top.

It was so unlike Teresa Lisbon that it boggled the mind.

He let the silky material slip between his fingers. Why one stocking? Was she implying the she was wearing its twin? That was the only explanation he could come with.

Teresa Lisbon in black thigh-high stockings.

Teresa in black thigh-high stocking and nothing else.

The mental image nearly derailed anything coherent thoughts he was having. He shut it down quickly, but not before filing it away in his memory palace for scrutiny later.

Was she trying to seduce him? Giving a man little pieces of sexy lingerie certainly implied as much.

He had never considered her a seductress. She was sexy, in a straight-forward kind of way. He'd always assumed that Lisbon's version of seduction was more along the lines of "come to bed, now." Not that he'd spend a lot of time thinking about her methods of seduction… Well, a little bit of time. A tad.

He groaned. His body was reacting to all the decadent little images his mind was conjuring up. He was aroused and confused—a miserable state to be in.

He left the stocking tucked under his pillow and filled his tea cup with hot water in the kitchen. He added his pear oolong tea and let it steep, his mind still cranking along, refusing to leave things alone.

He was positive that these methods of enticement were not Teresa's forte, so perhaps her reaction to their kiss had simply been embarrassment. Or perhaps she was hoping he'd wait to kiss when they weren't at work, constrained by her fictitious professional boundaries.

She was afraid of commitment, that much he knew (thank you, Greg). Maybe she was as conflicted about this as he was.

Interesting.

The woman was a puzzle, and he loved puzzles. He sipped his tea thoughtfully.

The only thing to do was to wait and see where all this would lead. He was interested to see where she would take this little game.

The question was, what would he do when they finally got there?

XXX

Teresa clenched her jaw in anger. They knew Mitch Daniels was their killer, but the man refused to break.

She stood behind the one way glass, observing Cho interrogating the man. So far Daniels had stood up to Cho's intimidation with remarkable fortitude. Grace had tried the friendly, eyelash-batting approach too—no luck. The killer stayed stoic, arms crossed, looking bored.

What she really needed was for Jane to get in there and find his cracks. Of course Jane was nowhere to be found now that she actually needed him.

He seemed to be avoiding her, which was strange since that morning she'd opened a bottle of expensive champagne. Maybe this was one of his pick-up artist techniques; ply a woman with sexy gifts, then disappear until she hunts you down and makes you tell her what's going on. She wouldn't put it past him.

Cho left the interview room, leaving Daniels to cool.

"No luck," he said, crossing his arms.

She frowned and pulled out her phone.

Jane answered on the third ring. "Yes, Lisbon?"

"Get your ass back in the office now. We need you."

"We or you?" There was seductive lilt to his voice.

Her stomach dropped a tiny bit. She felt her cheeks flush, but if Cho noticed he didn't let on. "I need you to irritate the suspect into talking."

"Ahh, my specialty. I'll be there soon, I'm just finishing up some last minute shopping," he said.

Oh, God. What was he getting her now?

"Well hurry, you have a job to do," she said testily, and snapped the phone shut.

XXX

Jane paid for Cho's next gift—a volume of stories by Lovecraft, and had the shop keeper wrap it for him.

His gift this morning—tucked under his pillow in the attic—had been a pair of dark blue silk boxers. He stared at them for a good twenty minutes, baffled by Teresa's ever increasing boldness. He didn't know she had it in her. He liked it.

Gift tucked away he hurried back to the office. He rather enjoyed the idea of irritating a suspect into talking. He also enjoyed the idea of seeing more of Teresa. He hadn't been able to help sneaking glimpses of her ankles, wondering if those sexy thigh highs were hidden under her practical slacks.

The bullpen was empty so he quickly stowed Cho's gift on the agent's desk, then hurried to the interview rooms.

In the hallway he bumped into the petite brunette who was currently consuming thoughts, both day and night.

She had her fists on her hips, lips turned down in a pouty scowl. "Where have you been?"

He tucked his hands into his jacket pockets and rocked back on his heels. "I told you, at the store." He grinned. "Miss me already?"

She flushed.

It was adorable how confident she was sending him anonymous gifts, but how shy she was in person. He loved that about her. He'd never had a taste for women who were cloying, hanging all over men, pulling out all the stops to seduce someone. It seemed clichéd and disingenuous. Teresa was nothing if not genuine.

"You still have a job to do, Jane," she continued in her best boss voice. "You're not focused on this case at all."

"Pardon me if my mind has been elsewhere," he replied with feeling. "You only have yourself to blame for that."

She sucked in a breath. "I don't see how it's my fault that you can't focus."

He rolled his eyes. "You've been a little distracting lately."

Her expression went from angry to panicked in the space of a heartbeat. "I'm not trying to…" She took another breath. "Listen, Jane, I—"

"I like it," he interrupted. "I like seeing this side of you."

Her eyebrows shot up. "This is the same side of me you've been seeing for years."

He quirked a grin. "Really? Intriguing."

She looked flummoxed. They stood there a moment when some instinct told him to look above them.

He glanced up. "I hate to tell you this, Teresa, but you're standing under the mistletoe."

She looked up. Swallowed hard.

When she glanced back at him he was startled by how dark her eyes had become. "Oh to hell with it," she muttered and leaned forward on her tip toes to kiss him.


	5. Chapter 5

V. A Thrill of Hope

Jane tasted like peppermint and black tea. He smelled faintly of cologne, but it was a nice, spicy scent—not at all overpowering.

She meant for it to be a soft, tender kiss, really. It wasn't her fault if his mouth was so talented that her lips opened without her meaning them to. It wasn't her fault if his hands came out of his pockets to grasp her waist.

She made a little moaning sound when his tongue touched hers. That was all it took for him to tug her against him, her body flush with his. The wool of his suit was scratchy against the skin on her palms.

My office is right next door, she thought faintly. There's a couch in there.

Jane saved them both by pulling back.

He looked just a little stunned. And smug. Mostly smug.

He was kind of a jerk, she thought fuzzily, but she loved him.

Oh, God, she loved him. And not just in the "I, Teresa, need to save everyone and feel affection for poor lost creatures" way. Nope that sort of concerned love had gone from sisterly to thinking about make out sessions on the couch.

Oh, God.

"I should go interview that suspect now," Jane said, and his voice was a little hoarse.

"Yeah," she muttered, feeling shocked and too warm.

"I'll be back though," he promised.

She didn't know what to say, so she said, "Okay."

He strolled away like nothing had happened.

Oh, God.

XXX

Jane broke Daniels, thankfully, and the team went out for celebration pizza. She made sure she left first, before Jane had a chance to talk to her alone.

The next day she found a box of chocolate covered strawberries in her desk. She ate one, but only because she skipped breakfast.

She managed to avoid Jane for most of the rest of the day, and made sure that they were never alone when they were together.

She left before the others specifically so he couldn't catch her alone. She needed time to think, to get her head on straight.

"I'll see you tomorrow," she said to the team as she breezed out of the bullpen. If anyone thought it was strange that she was leaving early, they didn't say anything.

Rigsby's secret Santa had left him a pair of penguin socks, so it was possible they were all too distracted by that to notice her.

She went home, filled the bathtub with hot, gardenia-scented water, and then poured herself a large glass of spiced wine. She soaked and she thought.

Was Jane trying to seduce her? If so why?

If he'd wanted casual sex before, he'd certainly have had no trouble finding it. There were plenty of women who'd jump at the chance. But Jane wasn't a casual guy, clearly, which led her to believe he wanted more than a Christmas Eve one-night stand.

She'd always been attracted to him (who wasn't?), but for all his flirting, she'd never really felt that he thought the same way about her.

She sipped her wine.

Of course, fugue-Jane had been all over her—well, and everyone other woman to be fair. But then, he wouldn't have assumed that they were sleeping together unless he'd felt some attraction, right? He grabbed her ass. It was a pretty nice ass, she conceded.

So maybe he did want her. And she wanted him. It wasn't the right thing to do, it wasn't professional…but his kisses had felt so good… And if she was being honest, she was closer to Jane than she was with any other man in her life, past and present.

He knew her, even her flaws. He loved her, she was sure of that. The question was, _how_ did he love her? The smoldering kisses way, apparently.

She was a little too warm, and definitely a little drunk, when she reached for the phone she'd left next to the tub.

She dialed his number from memory.

Jane answered immediately.

"What is this?" she asked not even waiting for a 'hello.' "Why are you kissing me?"

"Lisbon?" he sounded amused. "Are you drunk?"

"A little," she conceded. She shifted to a more comfortable position.

"Are you…are you in the bath?" he asked. "I just heard sloshing water."

She blushed even though he couldn't see her. "Yes."

There was a long pause. "You want me to come over and wash your back?" he asked, cheeky as ever.

She thought about saying yes just to see what he'd do. Instead she said, "Why are you kissing me all of a sudden."

She could almost hear his grin. "Because you wanted me to, obviously."

She struggled for words.

"And I wanted to as well," he replied a little more quietly.

"Oh," she said.

After a beat he said seriously, "This is a dangerous game we're playing, Teresa, do you want to stop?"

It was probably the wine talking, but she said, "No, I don't think I do."


	6. Chapter 6

VI. We're Happy Tonight

The last drunken strains of Jingle Bells were being sung, the spiked punch was being cleared away, and Jane had one last Christmas present to open.

He'd always dreaded the CBI holiday party, but this year it was especially taxing. Teresa had been there the whole night, wearing a little green dress, looking all too delicious. It took every ounce of control he had not to touch her, not to kiss when she kept sneaking him meaningful glances all night.

He hadn't felt this giddy and alive since he was a teenager, kissing Angela for the first time.

The thought of his wife brought a pang of grief to his chest, but strangely not guilt. He felt no guilt about kissing Teresa, about wanting to be with her. Perhaps it was a Christmas miracle, or more likely the fact that they'd been friends so long. If he had wanted any other woman, it would have seemed to cheapen the memory of wife, but Teresa had been with him through his grief, had stood firmly by him. If it were anyone else… but it wasn't.

He touched the gift in his pocket, a small card that had been waiting in his CBI-issued mailbox. He followed the crowd of partiers to the elevator—they were planning on taking the celebration to a bar down the street.

He waited until he was in his car to open the card.

Inside was typed the name of a hotel, a room number, and the words "meet me there tonight." A white plastic hotel key fell out of the card.

His heart slammed in his chest.

XXX

_Meet me there tonight._

Never had four words seemed so ominous.

Teresa touched his cross reflexively. They were at the point of no return. This wasn't a silly game anymore.

If she was being truthful, it had stopped being a silly game when she put on the black silk lingerie under her dress that evening. All night the silk had felt cool and smooth against her skin. She shivered.

Friends to lovers…did that ever really work? she wondered.

She slipped the card into her purse, grabbed her jacket and decided to go through with it. She'd come too far to turn back now, and she was starting to realize she needed more than a few stolen Christmas kisses from Jane.

Whether they'd intended it to or not, this whole thing was a long time in coming, she realized. It was amazing she hadn't seen it before. They'd already entered into the sort of playful intimacy that came with dating, just without the physical aspect of it. They knew each other's secrets and insecurities. They cared for each other.

Maybe…maybe now that all that was out of the way, she could finally make a relationship work. Jane had already seen everything she was afraid to show anyone else—and he'd stayed. She had no doubt he'd stay.

She hurried to her car.

XXX

They met in the hallway just outside the room. Jane had the key in his hand.

"Hi," she said a little breathlessly. She'd hurried.

"Hi," he said back. He was studying her carefully. One of his hands reached up to touch the lapel of her jacket.

The next thing she knew they were kissing, deep urgent kisses. Her back hit the door to the room, but she barely felt it. She heard Jane struggling with the door lock.

When it finally clicked open they stumbled backward, into the entranceway of the suite. The door clicked shut behind them and Jane backed her up to the bed, his mouth never leaving hers. She felt and urgent pounding in her blood, and from the way his hands trembled against her cheek, she knew he felt the same.

She stumbled in her heels, landing on her back on the mattress. She tugged his vest so he landed on top of her.

He pushed her coat aside, kissing a line from her jaw down her neck. He kissed her shoulder, tugged aside the dress, and brushed the black silk strap of her camisole.

"Nice," he said hoarsely. "Very pretty."

"You should think so," she murmured. "You brought it."

He went very still.

Her heart dropped as realization and dread settled into her chest. Her voice was shaky when she said. "Didn't you?"

Jane took a deep breath, then said, "Well, I'll be damned."

She sat up, shoving him off her. "What?" she demanded, tugging her dress and coat back into place.

"I think we've been played," he said, then he burst into laughter.

"Jane!" she hissed, mortified. "It's not funny!"

She stood up, adjusting her clothes, back to him. Her fingers were shaking and her face burned.

"I'm so embarrassed!" she moaned.

"Why?" he asked. His hands were gentle on her arms as he turned her to face him. His expression was amused, but also full of genuine affection. She'd never seen him smile so softly, so warmly at her.

"Because you didn't buy me those things!" Her face was red. "Because you weren't trying to…to…"

"Seduce you?" he asked softly. His grin was still in place.

She crossed her arms miserably.

"Teresa, I may not have sent you those gifts, but I was definitely seducing you a moment ago," he said. "Or did you forget already? Shall I remind you?"

Her heart skipped at his low tone, but it wasn't enough to drive off the shame and confusion.

He bent down to kiss her, but she shoved him away. "It's not cute, Jane. We've both been acting like a couple of lovesick teenagers because someone was screwing with us. I swear, when I figure out who did this…" She tugged her jacket closed more firmly, angrily.

"Teresa," he chided. He brushed a strand of hair from her face and looked her in the eyes. "No one made us act this way. They just planted a suggestion and we acted on it. So what if it took a con to make us realize we felt this way?"

The implication hung in the air but she refused to make any assumptions.

"Felt what way?" she asked self-consciously.

"Lovesick," he admitted. "I think I am a little bit in love with you."

She drew a breath. She hadn't really expected him to say the words, especially since he conveniently forgot the first time he told her. She wasn't even sure he'd really felt that way. But now…

She quirked an eyebrow. "A little bit?"

"A lot," he conceded.

She fidgeted, still embarrassed but more than a little pleased. "I think I'm in love with you too," she said softly, and the words lifted a weight off her chest.

He sighed and leaned in for a kiss. "Imagine that," he said wonderingly.

They wound up on the bed again, coats shucked, shoes kicked off, arms and legs tangled. "I can't wait to see the rest of that outfit," he murmured against her ear. "Whoever did this has excellent taste."

"So not Rigsby?" she joked.

"Not Rigsby," he conceded with a grin.

She began unbuttoning his shirt, touching the skin she revealed with soft caresses. "You know, I did get you a gift," she muttered slyly.

"And what's that?" he asked, a little breathless.

"A copy of the CBI rulebook," she teased.

"How…thrilling," he said dryly. He busied himself tugging her skirt up her legs.

"I even highlighted the part about inappropriate work relationships between agents," she muttered nibbling his jaw. "The key word being _agents_."

He grinned, slipped his hands up her legs. "I think I like that rule."

She looked him in the eye then, her hands still on his chest. "Merry Christmas, Patrick."

He leaned in for a kiss. "Merry Christmas, Teresa."

XXX

Grace topped off Agnes's wine. The two women were seated in a corner of the bar, watching Rigsby and Cho get into a drunken argument over the penguin socks.

"Think it worked?" Grace asked.

"Like a charm," Agnes said. "Did you see the two of them hurry out of the office?"

"Finally," Grace sighed. "How can a detective and a mentalist be so obtuse when it comes to their own feelings?"

"Love is funny that way," Agnes replied, sipping her wine. "It was a good plan though, Grace. I'm glad I could help."

Grace slid her arm around her conspiring friend and gave her a hug. "Next year we need to find Cho a girl."

Agnes hummed thoughtfully. "I'm sure we can come up with something."


End file.
